


Playing Doctor

by ToniPrufrock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cold, Comfort, Doctor - Freeform, M/M, Slash, h/c, ill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToniPrufrock/pseuds/ToniPrufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes becomes ill, so it falls to his best friend and doctor to care for him. However Sherlock is, as ever, a special case, and John's method for curing his insomnia may raise a few eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Doctor

"Sherlock, for god's sake, get back to bed." John called for the upteenth time, not bothering to look up from his newspaper. He had positioned himself strategically in the armchair of the flat, between the living room and the door to Sherlock's bedroom and the kitchen. Admittedly his back was to the scene, but it hardly took a man with super-hearing to notice when Sherlock attempted ever so quietly to open his bedroom door and creep out, making an attempt to sneak past his back and gain access to the kitchen and his whole collection of experiments.

The first time, Sherlock had scurried out of his room in order to resume his experimentations on stresses to the human nervous system, a severed hand stored in the fridge ready for the experiment. John had managed to catch him and tried his hardest to calmly explain to the detective why in his weakened state, messing around with raw decomposing human flesh was not the best of ideas. Sherlock had been knocked for six by a bad cold that had had him practically collapsing a number of times when he's overexerted himslef, and often rendered him completely helpless when he fell into a coughing fit that send him dizzy and gasping. They seemed to have conquered the stage of the cold that had him throwing up ever couple of hours, but while he was showing signs of improvement, Dr. John Watson knew that this ailment could linger for days or even weeks, especially if Sherlock so stubbornly insisted on wearing himslef out.

Now, with Sherlock caught in the act, the detective pressed his back agaisnt the wall so that it took some of his weight and groaned at being caught out.

"I was just getting a book." He said petulantly.

"No you weren't, you were trying to get to that ruddy hand again." John replied, finally breaking his eyes away from his paper and looking at him. While in their relationship Sherlock easily dominated, his intelligence and cuttingly condescending remarks always putting him as rather superior, the months of being Sherlock's flatmate and - more recently, something romantically more than that - had put John with enough experience to join Mycroft's school of how to deal with the detective. Mycroft had hardly directly taught him, but John tested the waters in imitation of him. He found that if he was firm and refused to back down, yet had patience and frankness, combined with clear evidence for why he was right, Sherlock often was forced to relent to him. It took a little practice, and he drew on a lot of what he'd learnt in the army, but it worked.

Sherlock gained an expression like a sulky child and sniffed, wiping the sleeve of his dressing gown over his nose.

"John, I'm bored."

"If you were sleeping like I said you should be, you wouldn't be bored would you? You'd be unconscious." John replied.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

"For god's sake, how long do you expect me to sleep?" He exclaimed, but raising his voice tugged a little too hard at his fragile throat and he was soon in another coughing fit, squeezing his eyes shut against it. John got up quickly and walked over, putting his hands on the taller man's shoulders to steady him.

"Easy..easy…." he soothed. "Come on, please come back to bed. If you can't sleep them i'll keep you company, ok?" he finally compromised. His paper wasn't that interesting anyway, and he wondered if 'I'm bored' was an alternative for 'I'm lonely'. At any rate he needed Sherlock's to confirm a few details from a recent case if he were to type it up in his blog, and he knew that going on about such details would cheer him up.

John guided Sherlock gently back into the detective's bedroom, dodging around the piles of papers and books that perpetually surrounded Sherlock's bed. He forced him to lay back down, but Sherlock refused to get under the covers, complaining that he was too hot. John checked his temperature, finding Sherlock's forehead blazing, and sighed, going to get some water and paracetamol to try and dull down the fever. Once he returned he passed them to him.  
"Here. Drink. take this."

Sherlock gave him a look but did as he was told, swallowing down the paracetamol with a few gulps of water. he then settled agaisnt his pillows, looking miserable.

"You know, you really are an awful patient." John said with a slight laugh, patting his leg. "It's not that hard, you just need to relax and rest and take your medicine."

"I feel awful, and your methods of improving me are dull, John." Sherlock complained, scowling up at the ceiling. "How am I supposed to work like this? My head is pounding so I cannot sue my laptop or even my damn phone. I can barely stand up for any extended length of time and I can't even talk long without coughing, so how am I supposed to go out and investigate? Or even talk to Lestrade about what's on the agenda? There is literally nothing i can do that is of interest to me or will make me feel better. I'm a bloody invalid, I-"

John rolled his eyes then leant forward suddenly to catch the detective's lips in a kiss to cut off his rant. Sherlock twitched in surprise but soon relaxed into it, parting his lips but letting John take the lead. when the doctor withdrew Sherlock hooked his gaze with his all-seeing cool blue eyes that always brought a tingle down John's spine.

"Well that was very unhygienic, Dr. Watson." he commented, then a thin smirk played on his lips.

"Yeah, I know." John admitted with a guilty smile. "it shut you up, though, didn't it?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and chuckled, which soon turned into another cough."mm. Well it distracted me, at least."

John studied him, chewing his lip slightly as he palm rested on the top of Sherlock's leg. he knew that he ought to talk about the case, or do something else, but he also knew that no matter what efforts he made Sherlock wouldn't sleep again. For a man that normally only caught a few brief hours sleep whenever he wasn't working, the notion of sleeping in all day was abhorrent. But John knew of at least one fail-safe way that always sent Sherlock to sleep and, he supposed, it had some medical basis.

Sherlock looked like he was about to start complaining again and John spoke before he had a chance to.

"You know, there's one cure that i haven't tried yet. Well i say cure, more it's just a staving off of the symptoms. It's quite experimental, actually." he said, giving Sherlock a knowing look, knowing that the detective never could resist an experiment.

"Yes?" Sherlock tilted his head slightly in interest.

John loved leading him, and he leant back casually. "Well, a quick large rush of adrenaline and endorphins is always very beneficial for when you're feeling ill. In a way it gives your body a little boosts that staves off the symptoms for a few minutes and makes you feel better for a while. It is especially good for clearing your sinuses actually." he said levelly.

Sherlock blinked at him. "oh?" There was the tiniest pause, then: "Oh."

John blushed slightly, but his smile was nevertheless confident. His hand snaked slowly upwards, drifting teasingly over the inside of Sherlock's thigh. "Exactly."

Sherlock smiled at him, watching him intently. "What if I don't have the energy?" he asked, though there was nothing in his expression that said that he wouldn't try anyway.

"You just need an orgasm, Sherlock, you don't need to be an athletic porn-star about it." John replied with a laugh.

Sherlock leant forwards, bending his knees to sit up properly and John reached out, giving him a gentle but firm push on his chest to pin him back down to the mattress and against the pillows. he shifted a little closers so that he was kneeling between his legs and smiled at him.

"No, you stay where you are and relax, alright?"

Sherlock tilted up his head slightly in the tiniest nod. "All right John." he murmured, resting his arms lightly on the mattress either side of him, still watching him, taking it all in.

John smiled and stroked his hands slowly over the fabric of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms, up his thigh, around to the inner thigh then drifting back down, almost like a massage in itself. Sherlock's steadied his breathing, trying to take John's advice and relax, an amused smirk on his face. He leant forwards, kissing him again, his hand finally cupping firmly over his crotch, massaging him. Sherlock made a little noise in his throat, leaning his head back, his hips thrusting up into his hand, trying to grind against him. John grinned, slipping in his tongue to the kiss, adoring the little moans Sherlock made at the attention. Sherlock was often so detatched and self involved, that to take control and encourage him to interact intimately, and to hear his resolve crumbling into emotions and feelings was incredibly attractive to him. he found that he wanted to do anything in the world to undo Sherlock Holmes' frosty ego and to actually make him human.

"Nnh..John..." Sherlock groaned as John rubbed harder, giving him a little squeeze smirking as he felt Sherlock harden beneath his hand. He gave Sherlock the tiniest little bite on his bottom lip that made him gasp. "John, damn it.." Sherlock said a little more roughly, twitching and eager.

"You're supposed to be ill." John teased. "Are you sure that you don't want to rest in a more traditional way? After all, apparently my credentials as a doctor are... what was it you said earlier? 'Doubtful at best'." He released him and his fingers traced to play with the waistline of his pyjamas.

"I didn't mean it." Sherlock said, a slight whine in his voice.

"Yes you did."

"I didn't know what I was talking about." Sherlock grumbled.

John paused and smiled in triumph at him. Getting Sherlock Holmes to ever admit he was wrong was like pulling teeth. Sherlock gave him an annoyed look, apparently not appreciating him enjoying his victory. John smiled and as reward tugged the detective's pyjama bottoms down, baring him. Sherlock shifted his hips and reached out for him, resting his hand on John's. John gave him a smile and then moved his other hand to cup around his member, giving it a few lazy strokes that made Sherlock shiver.

"So you trust me?" John said with a smirk.

"To the end of the Earth." Sherlock murmured. Their eyes met again and John gave a soft genuine smile at the honesty in that unusually emotional statement. He swallowed and then released him, which made Sherlock open his mouth to object. He soon made a little choking noise as his words caught in his throat when John bent down and ran his tongue over the tip of him instead. John felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He was still not used to this: it still sent his heart racing and his butterflies writhing and flapping around in his stomach, a nervous near-panic of utter taboo tingling through his nerves. But the deep noises Sherlock made at the intimate attention, and the own stirring that he soon found in his own trousers, was more than enough for him to decide not to over-analyse it. Sherlock gave a long moan as John licked up and down him before placing him in his mouth, John lightly closing his eyes.

"J-John...aa...a-ah..." Sherlock gasped, squirming, chest rising and falling, a little rattle in it that threatened him to start coughing again, but never quite reached there. John raised a hand up to rest gently on Sherlock's stomach as he worked, as if trying to steady him and remind him to take it easy, which was easier said then done as he sucked at him. Sherlock's hips twitched as he fought the urge to thrust deeper into John's mouth, and his legs shivered with effort. John stroked over his stomach again and Sherlock tried to relax, breathing deeply. John bobbed his head a little quicker, sucking and licking at him as he did, soon getting into the hand of it, grinning to himslef at the curious mix of low moans and high whimpers that escaped from Sherlock's throat. As John moved his hand to press the flats of his fingers firmly and teasingly in massage against Sherlock's enterance, the noise the detective made was utterly obsecene. Sherlock jerked his hips forward and John gagged and withdrew with a cough. he gave him a look which was met with an apologetic expression from the flushed detective, and he returned to his current task.

It wasn't long before Sherlock watch twitching again and John pressed down on Sherlock's hips to keep him from thrusting down his throat. Sherlock's fingers clutched into the bedsheets and he dug his heels in, his moans soon long and gasping, escalating in volume. John carried on, his fingers spread and feeling the tight twitching of Sherlock's muscles underneath his skin. Sherlock gave a desperate moan and John flinched away as Sherlock came, laughing in delight at the detective's reaction. he stroked him as Sherlock rode it out, and finally the detective sagged in exhausted relief, his chest still rising and falling.

John smiled and leant forward to kiss his forehead. "How did that feel?" he asked gently with a little chuckle.

"I...I believe that it worked, doctor." Sherlock murmured, smiling at him. "i feel better already."

John laughed and stood up and helped tug Sherlock's pyjamas back up before pulling his bedsheets back over him. "Glad to hear it. Now try and sleep ok? It's important."

Sherlock's eyes were alreayd lolling closed as John had predicted. he always found it adorable how tired Sherlock got after a romp. "Mmhm. I suppose that that's acceptable." he murmured.

John hung back at the doorway, watching fondly as Sherlock drifted off to sleep, and then pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

A good few days later, Sherlock was in the kitchen, much brighter but for still having the snufflles, happily attaching electrodes to the nerves of the severed hand. He looked up as upstairs he could hear John coughing loudly and groaning. After a few minutes John dragged himself downstairs, looking like death warmed up, pressing a palm agaisnt his head from a thumping headache as he moved into the living room.

"Ugh, I hate you." John grumbled.

Sherlock smirked, chuckling to yourself. "I told you it was unhygienic. you're supposed to be a doctor, John."

He ducked as a pillow was hurled at him and laughed.


End file.
